125: I believe we fall to nature so ketchupy-and-pink .. an oblative canopy over beauty, wit and fashion is established outward.

I blame eternity.

I’m flipping out, whoa. Losing it all, and more! A white screen shows no art. Inform, suborn, freeze freely up, need help? Refresh screen — then, thanks, bases for eternity lower right, tho in the middle cels your lips move up and down, talking dwelling design.

Changed my mind. The rent’s too high! No one can help switching me for you, bogus to true. Not now.

And it’s clear whose side you’re actually on, landlord.

Nothing is such in all cases. This brings on what works mostly.

We grabbed that as a ladder we couldn’t forget —
In short, amid memorized treetops —
at the positivist edge, entrenched applause

plumbs calm fields, both

of mind-boggling quiet,

more monitory now for preventing growth.

Go, go, go!
Oh, my God. This twistee boy’s blind as a bat.
Doctor, what a surprise. Are you having lunch here?
Well, I would if it’s that simple.
I wish it were that simple.
— The language test results have come back — and?
And I’m afraid the results are very disturbing.
It seems Jack has a rare case...
of brake fluid.
— Bran fluid. Bran flavor —
Brain fever — Say it!
Brain fever — Yes. Life can be hard..
Brain fever. Or what we call at Tech...
At the current rate ...
his brain will laterally explore...
Literally explode — Exactly.
— within the next three houses — Homes.
Yes. It will literally explode within the next three hours.
I would suggest leaving the restraint.
— The restaurant — Restaurant.
Yes.
His brain will actually explode?
Yes. I’ve seen it happen — Check!
It’s a dread-ful-
thing.

*
Define a language with no kids.

What documents do I need?
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
One new standard
remains the first floor is the planet.
Th e enigmatic under one rule are eaten alive by song layouts;
that’s the power of verse syllogisms over life...
The elevated prose idea of August
helps us get through life wellness rooms
circulating a moratorium on error —
so help yourself — thru July.

— Let’s be fair, a song of gossip v a notional prosodics partnership is a fluke enjoining boosters of inequity.

Runic, compared to verse now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan could be restated: Bodies of formulae destroy poetry until only style prevails.

(Yay..)

You and I reach media within erotic catalysts where touch management is unleashed. But the scenery is suddenly beyond modern representation while the crew calms down. There’s a dual nature to anonymity that makes clinical insight disappear, a bright pulling apart at the G-2 summitry of escape.

What’s semiology? (I don’t remember whose or how, unless we un-gnarl affects to figure it out?)

I practice English. I only pay for what I need. With regard to equity and its ovoid, stasis, in the compulsive battle over separating compulsion from externalizing desire..

Through the door on top of which words.. ?

My alter ego comes home from finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse. But, little one, auteur-ship is a social construct.

Reverberant, lapidary Stormy stepped into another room. “I’m not going anywhere void of menace.”

For Tu Fu, can I state my own fact as convergent fact? 
Yes, we take it personally.  
Lack of transparency must be why  
We both follow facts in physics unwittingly.  
 
Two very different outcomes, tho they equally square  
With observed outcomes ...

Accelerating destruction in the Amazon, a chunk the size of Rhode Island burns down each year. This buckaroo practice results in rich farmland that’s productive for about five years. After that, the soil turns into dust and sand. 
Carports for the farmers, then, are an interim step. Dust when it rains becomes haze and steam the color of moist bubble-like illusion.

Provincetown: Veined staff encourage sampling
as Lt Benji takes fingerprints, a full-time hobby
for Meister cabin boy in charge, over 30.

No evidence yet (or ever). The night is young.

*

Driving east then north delivers good news, stateliness already had its faint say. Now we can text and drive over time and zeta functions falling in hedgerows across 6a like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.

Cocktails, 4:00 pm. 

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflects gritty, highly-trafficked back alleys of jinx, beaming seduction and violence.   
 
Are you in good enough shape for precision?   
 
One is a little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
A stencil of our new dialog enflames others  
As each thought extols paying homage to paying homage, finding a subject.

Erasing the storied narrative, 
Baseline coherence that were normal, believable   
 
Then this   
 
Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up credibility  
Standing far off across  
Yours, just considering you   
 
In the era or epoch of fake announcements..  
That’s what I would be making — if I were to talk to you  
Just a sec so that waking cuts and runs  
 
To keep from you forever  
Nothing, seen forever!

I might have lived happily in another state 
Standing in neoplatonic darkness. A white bike  
To follow a path out /  
Inky smoke releasing a genocide of screens, like  
Thought beginning in waves easily agitated, reproached, disappeared  
In drumming opinions and worst practices —   
 
So rejecting dogma goes off the board.  
A white bike, please.

In alchemy, I’m told, you wear wet marks under your shirt — there you go — sent,
Slotted for long scream divisions raising heads.
Lines of argument stampede out bourn in heartbeats .. bright debate 
Drawing boundaries along dark areas of science-y propaganda. And .. 
.. owing to your interest, this won’t designate accession. 
Only agreement, one of many as noted by spreading optimism, the plan.

My winning Lotto ticket. 
 
The carbon steel of all day dimmed  
Second after worked over second.  
If you don’t look directly my way, into my face —  
I can’t give it to you.

Hands up.

On the corner of statue and the outer cape, there’s
a beyond just passed an easy show of hands
beyond what we imagined an hour ago (one mild altercation took it
into a shade of de-constraining tease).

A heyday of hands.

Weight loss by design. Classification = evolutionary collisions = 
Their work multiplied by adapted preferences in a prejudicial vapor.  
You think transparent rhetoric all-purpose, all calm, never resolved,  
Because you’re only one sailor, one swab  
 
In a climate of drumming opinions and best practices. 
Your bacchanalia talked up while slotted in —  
 
Sailor tattooed with an addiction to flapping ankles — swab  
Reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, sailor.

Post-cogency, you still doing that? That’s what’s oblong about sadness, 
the real overhead. Lost time, money. A sky of ice cubes for what party in sleep? I’ll take sherry Pepsi. And just the sardines. 
The cat owner in me is unknown to  me,  
permeates me. Consequences...   
 
Lost time is sawed off and knowing better.

Big things. Down interiors. And nice platonics. The he /
she and schema proliferating a fabulist dodge
between acts of spinning themes, code hier-
archies, text over image, or is it on empty?

*

Bigger things. Metaphor and life changing commerce, unnatural cities unknown but coming soon.

Sugar Dust (you in a Bernini head replant) brings on the knowledge effect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus where seasons float in willpower. I never understood insinuation. I never misunderstood it, either, a pulverizing divide teasing my attitude into admonitory tableaux sponged with your — why our species carries on — your eyes...

Future solarization = zealotry = teen manners.
Down, one-eyed birds. I may have to leave you guys.
Thin in Henleys you and I got dragged to the ceremony, moist, asleep.
My own appearance leaves me acknowledging you,
your forbears, quickening what we expect from
fallen heroes in the i.d. diagram.. cheers for inviting us, as well as all differential
probabilities. Very differential... and very well, improvisations solve for paradox
— a more refined backdrop in so circular an ambiguity of scale.

Taking flak, but always willing to signal far, this gong or that, constituting neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object in time — a rubberneck develops one’s own humanism.

Here I’ll grab one’s own cover and scramble over here to math skills, since my brain runs on my partner’s satisfaction as we grouse
Doubling in moral value, our sketch begins.

Full version.

Holy expletive!
Sorry. Your language is procedural.. lengthening its insipid menace.
Accommodations are key. That’s why we signed the contract

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness.
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught.
I have more prominent reassignments for you.
Here is the place you
and I may detect the language driver, untidy and young, loath
despite the foundational rule of no rule

And speaking up without permission.

In the mentalist version we grow inner living language over — to pillory hindsight.

Sundial-changing give-and-take contests a thousand bees stinging our feet
— after we improvised the text and handed it in. The theory here,

pleasure is to ethics as Spode is to gastronomy

while across the terrain a recurring nightmare, film tunnels’re lifting wax paper (in wind) when the water is abusive — yet all ends adaptively.

The strategy is
like any landscape, wait for mistakes (1) and (2) pounce.

Error is a norm of understanding.
Then again — I’m hooked on figurative exposition. Maybe I’m inspired by your stockpile of halo-ed vowel-movers — long-sought cornflowers strike a paramount for this, the rockiest of calculations, burlesques of pastiche — to show off before self-effacing, tall, slim complexities and transgressive contradictions of metabolic ambition. It’s because I say so 
Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush nimbus-wet in devotion to their next decimal of the property. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when. Tomorrow.

Not dying is not not wanting to die, a unique semantic potential assigned an inventory. 

There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in poetry... I wonder if that’s true — His thoughts knitted like mica heaping together, shouts ricocheting through a voicetrack from the underbrush holding our breath, bounced, kicked and gloved by catalysts.

It’s about time for the moody and unexpected. 
 
We mosey back to right about where we want clarity over motives.   
 
We’re in no hurry.  
Snow and sun? We’re expecting something.  
Ice or melt go missing but not lost.  
 
The reader note went on, One afternoon while relaxing one poured over a confusional book. It reads we are at the dawn of epistemology raising consciousness we can’t get from career studies alone. It continued, the mood wobbles. It does. It vibrates. But nothing’s lost that’s unexpected. It’s about time.

A common peril for any US politician used to be taking a supersonic flight carrying a single Russian. Wisdom lay in de Staël turmoil, a title from the ‘political’ surface as if exclusionary discourse / action is exercised to preserve future salient differences emanating from the core.

The by-now establishment are working on blowing up salience, a peril upgrade. For anything less cautionary or wanton we’ll have to shop outside the left wing. Each of us now rendered a non-donor monad and pre-mogul again — our search, yours and mine, worked up into retrievable data on auteur salons and dealerships.

How do the data look? Well, it’s too late —

2 million years a species, you know our $ is good. Sexual liberty never expires, but the cool gauge is slipping while I’m not going anywhere until gang murders are cut in half.

Do you write while you edit?

This just in — jokes turn into dreams. It’s dreaming that forgave us for everything (except melancholia). That’s because ideas, ‘sleeping while awake,’ get downgraded to icy normality in dreams, trapping you and me inside a force field owing to our prior expertise. That is, dreams.

So there’s no lack of opportunity in experimental states of forgery.

I don’t get what you want
— our lives are directionless without a group, a clan?  
     
The telling problem with atheist simplicity,  
You annoy others (meditations in telling).  
 
I don’t mean deep rampage in a civil sense,  
I mean surgically knocking other chanters  
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them  
From the inside, slicing up!  
 
We’re kidding we’re not religious.

I’ve been on an upload binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed replicant-stream toward a structuralist’s degree. 
I won’t cry when the point becomes bodily exercise without a message.  I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..   
 
There’s a tradeoff, my trade. In din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door from nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all that contains, all I could have told you.

Sentiment can be taken out. 
Nothing to it. A redraft prompts free-ranging inquiry tho tentative into our species’ understructure. Putting this down in a memo (after all), we have a relationship to more than fast thinking. The mechanism we choose is not merely investigation but unimpaired pursuit of new rules. Rough sledding for now yet you’ve worn down long enough to be admitted; you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. Put to the test, you’re like most trouble shooters — happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and lodging complaints..

Ventriloquating is something.

No one’s favorite word yet — nice aftershave, Rene

I got wind of it and put you right back in —

Can you be “paraphrased” in any meaningful sense?
We have two bays for pace & diapason:
Within a philosophy (in movement thru spatial dimensions)
(& the aura of a partner’s scent) forward!

Her evolution springs from prior copies. 
Petunia Pig. Premiere then curtains.  
 
Childhood runs out, our taxonomies still  
unexplained as temp permits.   
 
We loved the pig’s attitude, her trafficked facts, but  
we fear anti-humanist divas like her, 

wound up in her senseless atoms packing uncertainty principles —  
Just the tips loaded 
...you know what I mean standing up there, promoting pap acceptance.. You’re
a diva in fact with nothing to co-defend, not mad enough, feeling too little.

Greyhound hurling on seesaw feels fine, 
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s 
Not so entertaining or serene. A maelstrom lights 
Up the foreground, no questions asked. 
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites. 
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox.

Just because we attribute work to personality doesn’t mean I’m not a brute with a hammer in my hand. My nailing us together takes a moment of your life.

Whatever takes substance and breadth, I’m not doing it!

A hobby might become the color of dreams then addiction.
Can reasons to make you happy hold the same seasonal affect?
I know what jovial folks need, blindfolded.

My lack of controlling skills is the intervals it contains minus your presence,

Which is a way of drawing out regret.

Overheard on the walk from Lamont to Weidner..
Impulses to conceptualize or collectivize contexts are fatuously auteur-like;
sentimental to the core, even if in fact especially if sample texts (poetic treatments, meta-essays, etc.) argue on the surface against individuation & sentiment. This is self sentiment affecting triumph.

The war rooms (in ivory/media towers) in times of blanket authority — assumed — instantiate slaughter of memory & varietals of ‘superseded’ texts, pounding out schematic discourse to advance itself.

We can’t always wolf the message down this way but here we are. INTRO: New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. ACTION: The brilliant live on and they always have, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).

We have 9 pm poems and 4 am. Kind of noticed? 
I’m keeping tabs on it like a Javanese statistician. 
When information is relevant to sanctioned policy, communication goes private, all decisions should be centralized within a single metaphor with the most caffeine.

A poem is.. 
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write (if not well).  
To tap on the keys and wander out above our welcome in a retrospective..   
 
Again there’s no title because nowhere  
Are my thoughts so hidden in use.  
 
It’s a contraption. But that’s required.

The back office is an eyesore, assembly required. It
makes itself think...lets itself think...

(It’s a coin flip.)

Thanks for the heads up.

You ruined everything

We’re not all to blame for unforced errors
modulating the narrative self
according to archetypes of reverse daring.

Varieties and perspectives have changed —

There’s nothing to tell...

The no-dictator axiom takes off
since bad angels at some point talk back.

While they enter, they appear as though they have been with us..
it’s amazing how “they simply pass”
— coming from another headquarters, radicalized before they got there, here
proceeding under a bust of John Wieners.

Repeat this until approved, 
“I don’t know about you, O astronomy”  
But in a tone that’s affirmative  
Like the jeweler’s tone words for whale  
-bone / measured blues − while  
 
This stretch, like all happy comebacks, tells a story of the future dropping hints of a larger, full-mouthed don’t-know − was it something to do w/ a heap of focus on one side, therefore blocking another? Do we lead a life another sings w/ you?

Of all varied and fabulous pieces by new pianists I wager many are bursting with personae — because of what many rock to, also because many exuding confidence have gotten past graduate school, the corporation, a breakthru investment. 

One of the donor’s places resembles a Marine outpost with sweeps of property edging a subdued headquarters.

Technology’s refined flux appears noncontroversial.  
At sundown my leftist French brain speaks, confined to a thought balloon:  
“If you’re anamorphic, the flux grows within measures, for early adapters too often adopt overheated lingo or low-to-overheated if you like.”  
 
The remaining balloons shrugged to themselves in the embers; not really, they said. Aloof. All alone.

A true celebrity shows us the assassin is uninvolved on every emotional level — even the one one holds oneself and acts on by serving others, one bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.

With each rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational than ever  
Now a little drunk I look up at elm crocuses fighting odor, climbing the trunk.  
It’s air apparent. I feel cleaner with you. Clearer in noble gases and flux. I do.  
Molecules will sue   
 
You — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —  
What a snit! Apart from love I am ashamed now  
Breaking up with you would feel like the flu ...  
You and I in slow — we hope — radon decay 
Torched with prayer.

Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. Prehistory is the place for airborne definitions. Here
You find remuted meaning, good as gossip to evade
A “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly? 
 
O Headwaiters..  
 
I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside  
Everywhere. Coordinates  
 
Everywhere..  
O rockets to further research.  
— O bailiff, be this...  
Sung. A first poem.

Beginning to get the picture. Your flash is on the surface. 
 
You taste of star anise ‘launching’ the latest OS in fertility: you wiggle like my borzoi  
 
also w/ backsliding wipe-outs & their aftermath:  
trash-flashes we tautologize into cattle calls of glugging purity.  
At least our calls’re in the area...  
‘holding each other open’ ordaining our interpretive devices to 
bleep up to the top.  
 
There may be other areas, too.

Failures in love fell behind, heinous, antique, never in 2 places enough needing permission, shuttered, untainted & bleak, drear, just dumb. 
Translations: ‘explanations of fossils’ = live serious & young. 
‘Articles have been written on the topic of’ = long-lived, still this croaks; 
‘snow falling backwards’ = ack! s’up(?) / course ahead; 

‘the world of secrets is its own’ = pattern to succeeding circumstance. 

I lost my nonfaith underground, 
I should be writing this down.  
I try not to be credible.  Duly of course not sounded —  
I’m writing for one reason, to sound an alarm (like a big panic light), all 
stillness about to be torn down, the danger of rising temperatures; they did —  
We can’t always gather this way but we do.  
A new wilderness in words congers a wistful ecology, hum-vacuumed, cuddling  
escalations in remaining silent about verifiable devolvement.

I like it when prose or song digs in and flails. 
That about covers it.  
( It’s that emotional core between personal and professional.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. I got sun.  

Got to run, prose.

O ouch. 
I’m not sorry. I’m available to anyone. 
 
This is my first try with an experiment that works.  
 
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace  
— w/ the emancipatory normality of curiosity, kindhearted proof —  
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, one of you for another of me.

Well, our early faith promised us immortal lives, backup roles that made us teen idols, 
central characters in an improvisation we lost track of. 
I gradually began to buy things in no order, branched out a little finding a passion for saluting an atheist nation that apprehends my experience as no one else.

Right away we’re made for history. Or, made of history.
Dark edges must be why 
Two very different outcomes equally square  
What you hear w/ the you you wear & what you are.  
I stake your reputation, touting  
you & kiss & lap up the air in your 1st mustache sense.

You and I emerge as information flows, each with different histories in the multiverse. Alien favors percolate if you diet and exercise. Budding relationships become frontiers, light weeks in radius. In time we can run to a space where excellence in coincidence can be achieved. Like Molière, a self-publisher, we’ll keep a moth-hole sweatsuit or two as foils to untried financial identities.

Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
 
Here I am as genealogies of specialists file off.  
Rebuilding requires transitives tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I’m the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam “I” and “am” channel  
-ing of normality, sleep, hope that bear repeating.  
Photons. Can we turn to steel?

Louisiana: East of Eden: That time of year with smarter definition. 
How’s that if your electricity is out and your phone’s no good?  
We needed smarter drywall too, to excite the twilight in the west,  
ferns and moss growing other side after sunset, every-   
thing about the yield blowing in its news  
of recurring unitary joy...   
 
It must expire.  
 
I liked getting you to this point nourished by discovery. 

Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, mostly. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for revovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast, a proverbial laugh:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were un-reneged-on. It’s
not that large an irony tho the freehold repaired to is offered only in the ‘thereabouts’ pattern...

This sentence’s one constant is 
 

a laptop lies naked on my chest.  
Dibs on any heat, clammy & pink  

on the brink of aspects vanished in air.  
 

The laptop’s ‘aspects’ conquering the odor of mollusks, our  
 

memory of the moment lost 
 

more to desires, a hill that’s not  
 

a hill, a gaze upon the sun leading to a word 
 

that’s not a sentence.

I’m losing a fortune in darts. 
A blank verse court drama  
 
Where I keep my mouth shut & listen,  
Escalating with all my sharpened implements to inhabit received logic.  
I’m retracing what I think you see. I’m  
Mastering vegetable colors, naming obvious finds,   
 
Pushing the most oblivious among broken darts,  
Mirroring the self-defiant. These 
 
Mirrors entangle bosons of mine, yours and everyone else 
Rushing us on to careers in redefinition...

With good optics petroleum and related interests can play for the cosmos. Bosons exhale thru drenching nighttime. Their surrogate likenesses (x) are more set, reset and more recently struck down in spheres of difference.. 
Razed molecularly. Drench is over, done there on the lawn, a light drizzle in light draining oil.

Hey Siri (British female). 
It could be bye.  
 
She spake plainly for a big hearted killer-  
Darling. And by morning   
 
Reminding me once  
Only her own revels met her halfway in kill value.

Bye when morning blurred, when we got to promise  
An aftermath of special measures, letting her adage cool.  
Is this a document or did I make it up? 

Morphology covers all bets. Scars are goods. 
Drapery over stays.   
 
What’s below?
I find ya innocuous.. you’re blind and innocent as a promise keeper.    
A stupid promise keeper that housesits almost any sentence ..   
 
  .. that’s a bad idea of particularity. Which is a true sentence that feels incomplete.

Thanks to strong interference we accept multiverses.
Pardon me. To a field of waves 

A warning looms to live on 
to next season, the most indivisible of 4. 
The fiscal thrill of a principle’s often-quoted exponents. 
Your will bending other lives. 

I never imagined keeping count of others or their waves
but it’s on my list. My list of lists.

Coming in parts..

the if-movement (critique as aspiration) can be thought 
a saga you (like any if us) can pump off & on — so on    
 
-coming then coming clean is another part — if-closeness.  
Later, new police! 
[talk in paranoia...] 

And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by an against-type chamber piece somberly floating off fun insight, now audible signs, if-history, if-intention preparing the new force for a life span’s fixed melody.  
 
Unless there are police already in sight.  
 
Criticism, it seems, “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, seized and sealed with if-rhymes; my ears “wrapped” in thunderheads.   
 

The ‘if’ I had in mind comes in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the next police van, minus the rhetoric, with pencilled movements. The if-critique had no name; it’s all about listening.

How may I help?

In robotic evolution there’s an i.d. crisis 
as when who knows we’re taking these steps   
 
for whose agenda? Eat and lose some weight?   
 
Brooding Siri or I could use another i.d. for either of us. Or any of ours.  
I used to have an ersatz power dependency that’s reasonable to regret. Even today. 
Now I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness’
replicated many times in mum succession.

Rupert wants Trump:

Open secrets in plain sight, leaking unrequited greed.
2 leakers on the phenomenal make —

I want Trump to win a disgraceful country.
And I know trump.org’s Slavic pedigree.
Perjurious apparatchiks are back too
(their children forget).

I’m not going anywhere. Despite my
Intelligence, Mr Kim promised me.

101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses cooled down — praising silence long truant, still overdue. Both our senses I reference, truth and beauty, in primary season.

And I’m back intermixing, fixing and lifting text, you in the foreground with answered memories. (“Make answer, Muse..” take everything.. need nothing.)

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in the twin columns.

We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. Miss you. Miss you.. There you are! 
To explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework... make my answer, muse.    
 
We’re adoring you as a full service enterprise assuming a moral politics where love dependent leverage follows its bliss!

Microscopic levitation thru language got modulated. Had to be. Modulated is like coming out to test market your views, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment. And we’re backing it up with inexact explanations and multiples of love for what we could have been doing before the procedural took hold. 
We are off then, taken off, memories keeping our eyes immune to causation. Keeping everything under introspection.

My name isn’t terrestrial playwright with hunter sunglasses for nothing. 
Retreating to circuit theater was predictable, finding  
backwater exchange wears down seeing infrared.   
Meeting up, we stand around,  
 
crawl and cover gorged ground. A once frontier then.      
 
Then what if our adaptations wear out on the ground? What  
if our species’ reach, having pulled thru, pulled out?  
 
Your criticism is premature.

It’s spooky rhyme but it wasn’t my first ween


-ie choice; the machine flunked me — burst

my thought calculus for the full stretch space sitting there. It restored my faith in the bonus shod of prowess, smoking in slacks (touching my two knees behind your back), undressing. Exercise for us commoners became a rags to riches habit we can’t keep up for more than an hour. But the revenge police are still baffled, turning bright to be seen.

1 enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit self sponsorship
spreading out in willful overloads of idiomatic design —

Skilled chattel, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
Ironic technologies without precedent —
A corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax, all noun phrases.

Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.

Two Spanish-speaking women try new salads.
The contours.

Channel my absence from you. 
It reminds me in harm’s way.   
 
When I am feeling discordant, scared  
where we come back to having it all wrong:  
We’re mistaken, both mistaken over a negative or two  
only a year more or 
less and more spasmodically
time restored removed.

Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, mostly. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for revovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds too soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast & rubbery clouds, a proverbial laugh:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were un-reneged-on. It’s
not large irony tho the freehold repaired to is offered only in the ‘thereabouts’ pattern...

A breach of manners can be a sentence. Or a fragment.
There is urgency in ideas.


I live in an echo of a country.


During the break we reached an agreement.
Life’s origin would be redubbed genetic code jumping.

I’ll admit this view

marshals over the property.

I should turn in my leasehold, ergo.
Not really, she said out 
loud, ahead of how I was supposed to know.

This was the first time.

No yet also yes to scoping life as a masterpiece, addressing a doormat standing an inch off the casing, or exposing every itch up your sleeve. Yes or no tempo of glyphic turmoil grounded into coinage and torpid incision in not one vowel or all 80 of them — 800, yes or no prophase for pensive description. No to yes there’s insatiable shine.

Just saying
Spontaneity backs up lit up position vectors.

Woe is paralytic.

I don’t know that much about you, but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling fear.
Half a day goes by and
You are unattainable.
You are hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, this is serious.

Notes on Expressionism:

Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom?
I rank his output very high, filled in with energy
off the scale, 9 plus or more to exaggerate
(if I could, hmm).

Duino. No lacunae needed, Rilke’s asyntacity sets an extreme standard atop
a maximally tall order, looking down over his sprawling,
immersive, dark & smoky project-for-good, 10 or higher.

— Empress Eugenie

Everyone needs a secret life.
I got the idea from going to church.
Am not believing this.

Visuals like abstract fog formally at odds in empty parts,
split seconds in a bigger blank with no data.
A bog of cloudburst capsizes, disabused of cloud,

blending in, no longer exterior to land

untrusted and re-tenured, a heavy precip

snapping into randomness.

There is slender lovemaking on square obstacles. To stop tremors, rouged slippers are warmed as leftovers, something a lapdog in one room repairs with, to a separate bungalow. The commissary situated down in the sub-chambers, getting there aimlessly onerous. What will they spell for lunch today?

’Recursive perception‘ —  
For your birthday (bleak as mine, too) I came straight from the agency, this text’s agility welded to the dirty space in which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception and Action,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, ambiguously, in pastels. 
 
It was everything.
Poetics process stuff. Ketchupy. 
The coast is never clear, fat boy... 

A whole new side to nuts & tightening bolts, narrow & soothing in the center, along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, clear in the nick of it.

Aw, come on, try an exercise in subject-mood agreement.
Then Alexander went over blabbing to his dark lady, oh, I’ll steal what thou bequest because we can blow hot and cold here, there. We’ll call it modern English.

Not being English or Alexander I can’t add much. The ache of summer is palpable, and night is falling as snorts of derision dampen my naïve representation of democracy.

Generation service portion is tomorrow before the cart.
A vapor’s portrait all for it, bo th arms..
You’re welcome, Mme Speaker. Is she?
“A poem with fewer pictures explains better.”
Even if your other car is a broom?

I ma’am constitute the unmarried Non-Group playing along,
a wild shot with a habit to outlast how moot that would be.

Summary knowledge p 00, bad line breaks, no indents; p 00 bad spacing for stanzas. When a poem goes to 2nd page, the 1st line begins at the point where text begins after the title — that is, 2nd page text is formatted as tho there were an invisible title above it..

Astronomers from a famous university have nothing to give back on this. The quantum entity we reference as perpetuity as well as outer space is erratically arced with genetic codes, trapezoids and dull oblongs scratched over with olfactory précis: Much unexplained, fingers crossed.
Given human double indemnity, our unfilled categories sit atop tossed out mosaics, molecules pounding from overtime atmospheres. Fast below the lush, appointed blur.

For a recap, I color within lines. Drink? I take my latte to bed
And set it on the stand, tagged and released.
You wailed it, Yosemite!
Morose I am.. and optimistic.

Dawn. I thought I wouldn’t get back to sleep.

I was going to call it “Draped Profile.”
Held from both sides.
Distinguished in feel. “Pronounce it.”
That’s good.
Now draw the strings. Ok
— what do you know!

It goes off the air base,
Hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, blue, pale
— lavish as doves

Which are no more
Swept with visual certainty
No matter how we change in love.

Error correction sucks less.
(Reflected aphids
gathering on a wall, also unanswerably,
in the hand. Whose hand? Those were
my sentiments. The last ones.
I’m pretty sure.
If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)